


Allons danser, Colinda

by loveinadoorway



Category: Only Lovers Left Alive (2013)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-07
Updated: 2015-09-07
Packaged: 2018-04-19 13:25:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4748063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loveinadoorway/pseuds/loveinadoorway
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Title and quote from a cajun dance tune.<br/>Piece set in New Orleans, although I don't spell it out.<br/>As usual, my fickle muse will decide if this remains a one shot.<br/>Also, first OLLA fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Allons danser, Colinda

She sat in her usual place, he noticed in passing as he walked past the herd of uncaring cattle towards the stage. He had caught her scent as he passed her. Something floral with just a hint of summer rain. He clamped down hard on the unwanted pang of arousal.

He took his place on stage, to the back, almost wrapped in the shadows. His fingers slid over the strings in a practiced, easy dance. Sometimes soft, like the caress he could no longer bestow on anyone; sometimes hard, like an echo of the thrusts of his passion. 

It was a happy tune, a dancing tune, but that was not the way he played it. He played it slow and mournful, interspersed with hard, almost angry riffs. It was that one little snippet of the lyrics that haunted him, wouldn't stop tormenting him.

_C'est pas tout le monde qui peut danser_   
_Tous les vieilles valses des vieux temps_

His love was no longer there and there was nobody, simply nobody left alive who could dance the old waltzes with him. The old waltzes, the old times. He felt the weight of the centuries even more heavily than usual tonight.

The melody filled the dingy bar and he didn't care if anyone was even listening. He didn't play for the zombies, he played for Eve. No, not exactly for Eve, more for the absence of Eve. The music filled the Eve-shaped hole in his soul, to be precise.

The woman was watching him, attentively over the rim of her shot glass, as usual. He knew already that she would be gone before the last note had died among the smoke and the inane babble. It was always so. 

They were dancing, too, in a way. Dancing the oldest waltz of them all, the hunter and his prey. Dancing around the inevitable moment when their eyes would meet and fate would show itself.

Not tonight, though. Tonight, he took his guitar and walked past her empty bar stool, catching one last whiff of her scent before he strode into the hot summer night and the ever-present night-blooming jasmine erased her more subtle perfume.

No, not tonight, Adam thought, as he hurried home.

But soon. 


End file.
